


White Valentines

by butyoumight



Series: Crossing Parallels [3]
Category: Green Day, The Beatles
Genre: AU, Crossing Parallels, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-27
Updated: 2006-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Paul smirked. “And yet here we are. It was real after all.”</i></p><p><i>“Or it’s just another big long fucked up dream.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The second major canon fic in the _Crossing Parallels_ universe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“We can just sit up here by the door. Alone. Until we can’t stand it anymore.”_

“Fuck this. Fuck you all. I’m leaving.”

“The fuck you are, George, you’re staying.”

“Fuck off.”

“George!”

“I said _Fuck. Off._ ”

Ringo stood up as George dropped his guitar.

“George, don’t. Come ‘ead, up to the roof, we’ll have a ciggie.”

“Ciggie break isn’t going to fucking fix this, Rich.”

George strode purposefully for the door.

=-=-=

Conversely, the silence was deafening. Jason peered in at them, nervous about intruding but fairly sure that he wouldn’t be interrupting anything. Nothing ever seemed to be happening these days, and he figured Billie was going to be in need of a break soon anyway.

=-=-=

Without warning, Jason found himself on the floor, looking up at an utterly bewildered face. A face Jason knew and loved dearly and had been well convinced he was never going to see again.

There was a crash as two drummers fell in opposite directions off a stool built only for one, Ringo knocking the hi-hat utterly askew as he landed on the floor, Tré similarly knocking one of his floor toms clear over.

Everything stopped for damn near a full minute before Jason squealed.

“George!”

The guitarist leapt to his feet and at George in one fluid movement. George’s stony anger melted away instantly as he realised just what had happened, and he threw his arms around Jason, holding him tight.

Meanwhile, two angry English songwriters glared at each other even as their contemporary counterparts exchanged nervous glances, their current unspoken anger with each other being fully overridden by this sudden recurrence of something they’d agreed had never happened.

The matched set of drummers was another story entirely. They stared at each other over the stool for a long moment before lunging at each other, hands grasping at shoulders and necks and lips meeting greedily in a much more unique greeting.

“I missed you.” Jason said plainly, still holding George tight. “They almost had me convinced it never happened. Only Tré still thought it was true.”

The drummers pulled apart, panting in unison and matching gazes. Ringo looked Tré over, smiling softly and fingering the now ever-present ring on its chain.

“Oh, _fuck_ this.” said Billie and John in unison, exchanging glares.

=-=-=

“Maybe if the percussionists could stop groping one another for a second.”

Ringo and Tré pulled apart sheepishly, glancing at the surly John. Ringo drew the back of his hand across his mouth as Tré ran his fingers awkwardly through his hair.

“Oh, leave them be, John.” George grunted. John turned to glare at him, noting that George’s fingers were unashamedly tangled with Jason’s.

“You’re no better than them.” John scowled heavily. “It’s not going to last more than a day, you know that.”

Billie shot a similar glare towards Jason.

“It’s better to not get attached again, Jase.” Mike agreed quietly. “Chances are this is never going to happen again. Not ever.”

George and Jason glanced at each other sadly before George stood up, anger flashing across his features. “You all can fuck off.” He said sternly, pulling Jason along. “Sometimes one day is all you need.” George met Jason’s eyes, asking silently for a place they could have some privacy. Jason glanced around, figuring it wouldn’t be prudent to take George out of the studio.

Jason led George up the stairs and into the control room, locking the door after them. The remaining six exchanged short glances before Ringo and Tré found themselves drawn again to one another’s mouths.

John huffed angrily, then turned pointedly towards Billie. “Chance of tea?”

Billie frowned at Tré, though the drummer was a bit preoccupied and didn’t notice, then sighed at John. “Come on, then. I‘m sure something can be arranged.”

The pair of them headed out of the room, leaving the hesitant bassists staring at one another. Paul, forcing himself to ignore not only his apparent displacement in time and space, but the fact that one of his best friends was currently approaching indecency with another man...

Paul approached Mike hesitantly, eyeing his guitar.

“You’re the bassist then?”

Mike felt an uncomfortable blush creep up his neck.

“Y-yeah, that’s me.”

“You... Last time...”

“We tried to forget about it. Me and Billie, anyway.”

Paul smiled, though somewhat sarcastically. “Oh, John and I tried too. Didn’t work, not with Rich so fully convinced, and George a great bloody mess every time he sobered.”

Mike gave a short barking laugh, utterly mirthless. “Funny, it was exactly the same on this end. Jason was a wreck, a total wreck. And Tré was just... just getting fucked up every night.” There was a pause. “Not that he didn’t usually do that anyway, but he was being consistent.”

Paul smirked. “And yet here we are. It was real after all.”

“Or it’s just another big long fucked up dream.”

They looked around in unison, taking in the fact that Tré’s shirt was half unbuttoned and Ringo’s tie was well undone. Mike turned back to Paul.

“Emphasis on the _fucked up_.”

=-=-=

Jason peeked out the plexi-glass window, looking down at the main room of the studio and making note of the situation before slinking back to the floor, where George sat.

“What’re they doing?”

“Billie and John have gone off somewhere...”

“Probably for tea.” George interjected, reaching for Jason’s hand.

“Paul and Mike are just talking.” Jason continued, taking George’s hand and squeezing gently.

“And Rich?”

Jason smiled at George, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “Making out with Tré, as expected. And how. They‘re already going for each others clothes.”

Their eyes met as they smirked in unison.

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you, but we don’t want to be shown up do we?” George said quietly, running the back of his hand down Jason’s cheek.

Jason responded with a hand to the back of George’s neck, their lips meeting gently, unhurriedly.

=-=-=

Ringo and Tré separated unwillingly, Ringo glancing over his shoulder at where Paul and Mike were chatting somewhat amiably. He caught snatches of conversation, and pieced together that Paul was rhapsodising about his new song. The one that John had challenged him to write, a challenge which Paul had taken as a personal attack. Ringo shook his head, slightly hurt at the reminder of the numerous cracks running through the band. He turned back to Tré, pressing his forehead to Tré’s shoulder.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

Tré wrapped his arms around Ringo’s waist gently.

“We’ll find some place.”

Tré led Ringo out of the recording room, one arm around his shoulders.

“Do you want to talk?”

Ringo looked at him, one eyebrow tweaked. “Wot d’you mean?”

“About... Well, you know. What’s going on?”

Ringo paused, remembering that this was sometime far in the future, and Tré most likely already knew exactly what was going on, and further, how it was going to work out. “Maybe later.” He sighed slightly. “Right now I’d just like to get my mind off of it. That’s probably why we’re here, you know.”

Tré smiled slightly. “Well, if there’s one thing I can do, it’s distract.” He slipped his fingers under the waist band of Ringo’s tight jeans, tugging slightly and backing through the conveniently placed bathroom door.

=-=-=

Billie sipped at his coffee, watching John carefully brew his tea, add a precise amount of milk, and take a hesitant sip. Judging it suitable, he tilted the cup horizontal and began to drink in earnest.

“You tried to forget too, huh?” he asked quietly. John gave Billie a sideways glance, looking him over again before lowering the cup.

“Of course. _Tried_ , and failed.”

“And here we are again.”

They looked at each other, each remembering slowly their one day in paradise. Placing their cups down simultaneously, they dove for one another, teeth crashing, lips bruising, but it was right.

=-=-=

Jason peeked through the window again, buttoning his shirt as he did so. George remained on the floor, pushing his longer hair behind his shoulders and wiping off his face with the back of his arm.

“S’fuckin’ warm in here.” he grumbled, mostly to himself as he peered up at Jason, waiting for the report.

Jason smirked down at him. “It wasn‘t so warm before we got in here, you know. Anyway, if we’re quick, we should make it up there, no problem.”

George stood, re-buttoning his jeans as he shook out the kinks in his legs. “Let’s go then.” Looping one arm around Jason’s waist, the pair slipped out the door, letting it close silently behind them. Paul and Mike were distracted in one another (from what Jason could hear, it would seem that Mike was trying to explain the more advanced technology), allowing the pair of guitarists to make it to the un-labelled door that Jason knew from past experience led up to the roof. More than once had he led a shaking and panicky Billie up the stairs to the roof for cool air, open space, a cigarette and a shoulder to cry on.

Jason closed the door carefully behind him.

“Stay away from the edge. We don’t... A young Beatle running around on the roof would not exactly be good.” Jason stammered slightly. George grinned, pulling out his cigarettes and offering Jason one.

“We can just sit up here by the door. Alone. Until we can’t stand it anymore.”

Jason smiled, taking the cigarette from him. “Like that would ever happen.”

=-=-=

Tré exited the bathroom grinning, extremely pleased with himself, tightening Ringo’s tie around his own neck. Ringo followed, fumbling slightly with the buttons on his shirt, a noticeable glow on his features.

“I’m missing a button.” He said, slipping his hand into the space the wayward second button had left hanging open. Tré fairly beamed, placing one arm around Ringo’s waist and sliding his other hand into the shirt alongside Ringo’s.

“Sorry about that.”

Ringo curled his fingers around Tré’s, his free hand reaching once more for the ring hanging now just over the plain tie.

“Glad I did this.”

Tré pressed a careful kiss to Ringo’s forehead. They remained still, embracing in the hallway for quite some time before Ringo went and ruined it.

“I could use a ciggie.”

“I know just the place."

Tré smiled, grabbing Ringo by the arm and leading him off.

Tré and Ringo snuck back towards the recording room, pausing to listen and watch, amused, as Paul gently ran his fingers down the strings of Mike’s guitar, the pair of bassists all the while speaking quietly and quite calmly.

Tré shrugged and continued on to the unmarked blue door, pulling it open and looping a arm around Ringo’s waist, walking with him up the stairs. Ringo looked around, confused at first but slowly realising where, exactly, they were going.

There was already a cigarette in Ringo’s mouth by the time Tré pulled open the heavy steel door at the top of the stairs, squinting into the sudden bright sun. Ringo preceded Tré out the door, only to stop and back pedal into Tré when the drummers finally noticed the other couple.

They were facing each other, sort of. George’s legs were straight in front of him. Jason was somewhat perched on George’s lap, his legs crossed at the ankle behind George’s back. It was hard to tell from their position whether they’d just been talking, making out, or both.

“Sorry.” Ringo said, grabbing for Tré’s wrist and pulling him back towards the door. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

George and Jason shook their heads in unison.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s fine. Sit down.” George said, gesturing around at the expanse of available tar paper. Jason grabbed George’s pack of cigarettes, offering one to Tré, while George reflexively grabbed his lighter held the flame towards Ringo.

“Stay a while, enjoy the sun.”

Tré and Ringo exchanged glances before settling down, lighting their cigarettes, lapsing into comfortable conversation while the sharp California sun shone on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t be a prick, John, just fuckin’ have some fun. Won’t kill ye.”_

John and Billie pulled apart as roughly as they had come together, a slight curl to John’s upper lip vocalised by the quiet snarl in Billie’s throat.

“Can’t control ourselves, can we?” John scoffed, turning away and wiping his mouth roughly.

“Fuck.” Billie turned as well, gripping at the counter until his knuckles went white. They lapsed into uncomfortable silence, pointedly avoiding looking at one another.

John heaved a heavy sigh, taking his glasses from his nose, wiping the lenses carefully with the hem of his shirt as he finally spoke slowly.

“Are we just going to pretend this away again?”

Billie loosened his grip on the counter carefully, taking a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to.”

He turned to look over his shoulder to find John facing him, pressing the thin wire frames back up his nose.

“Then we won’t.”

Billie turned around quickly, John meeting him half way. Their lips slipped together once again, much more softly.

=-=-=

Positions had changed.

George and Jason sat back to back, leaning against one another, both cross-legged. Ringo was also cross legged, facing them. Tré lie flat on the tarpaper, knees bent, and head in Ringo’s lap. His ‘hawk was long since gone to shit, as Ringo couldn’t seem to keep his fingers out of Tré’s hair.

“It’s a little weird that you guys are so calm.” Jason said idly, tamping out his fifth cigarette and adding the spent filter to the pile.

“Wot’d’ye mean?” Ringo asked around his own seventh cigarette.

“Well...” Jason shrugged, and gestured around vaguely. “It’s the future.”

“We’d noticed.” George said with a smirk, grabbing Jason’s gesturing hand and kissing the back of it. “We don’t care.”

“Why not?” Tré asked, almost sitting up to look at George better before deciding that he was more comfortable with Ringo’s fingers in his hair.

“Who fuckin’ cares what time it is?” Ringo asked, obliging Tré’s silent request. “We’re here, and you’re here. And that’s what matters.”

George nodded in agreement. “Don’t ruin this, you two. We’re tryin’ to enjoy the time we’ve got.”

Tré and Jason exchanged sheepish glances.

“Sorry...” Jason said quietly.

George and Ringo shook their heads in tandem.

“Don’t apologise.” George stated firmly, squeezing Jason’s hand to emphasize his point. “Just enjoy it. For as long as it lasts.”

Jason turned his head, George moving to meet him half-way in a typically soft kiss.

Ringo and Tré, never a pair to be shown up, shifted around like professionals until their lips met and their hands were snaking into each others’ clothes.

=-=-=

Paul paused in his careful work, looking up at Mike as if just now realising what he was doing.

“Yeh’re sure this is alright?”

Mike waved his hand, unconcerned, before returning his fingers to the frets.

“I’ve got plenty of them around, and I can always re-string it back.”

“Ta.” Paul continued to tighten the strings one at a time, fiddling with toothpicks (and reassured to know that recording studios in the future were equally good for random things and nonsense for jobs such as this) to set the G string steady in the larger hole. As he moved on to the next string, he looked up at Mike, fixing him with a questioning eye.

“Would ye’ play somethin’ fer me?”

Mike blinked, looking up from his fingers to look at Paul.

“Um... Sure. What?”

Paul gestured vaguely with a toothpick before breaking off the very tip of it. “What ever ye’ want. ‘m not picky.”

Mike considered, shifting his fingers uneasily over the frets before shrugging. It wasn’t like he was on stage in front of a stadium full of screaming fans. It was one person. Sure, that person was _Paul McCartney_ , but Paul wouldn’t know or care if he fucked up.

He launched into _Longview_ like second nature, which it really was. Paul, who had looked back to his re-stringing while Mike considered what to play, looked back up suddenly at this. Mike glanced down at Paul, surprised at the look in his eyes, and continued to play.

“’s amazing.” Paul said quietly, looking down again as a dull flush crept across his cheeks. Mike continued to play silently, and Paul finished fitting the last string. Looking up through his eyelashes at Mike, he saw that the other bassist had a matching flush on his cheeks.

Standing up, Paul positioned himself where he could watch Mike’s hand, slinging the unfamiliarly heavy bass around his shoulder and shortening the strap in a practiced manner.

“Slow down.”

Mike obliged immediately and Paul mimicked his movements, albeit with the opposite hands. They moved through the bass line a few times before Mike returned to speed, and Paul matched him, stumbling once or twice but emulating the acid-inspired rhythm quite well, all things considered. They both let their fingers move of their own accord and looked up, soft hazel eyes meeting icy blue.

“I was tripping on acid when I wrote it.” Mike said conversationally, pleased to feel the dull blush receding from his cheeks. He really was just playing bass with another bassist, Paul McCartney or no.

They were cut off abruptly when the nondescript blue door slammed open, startling them out of their reverie as the pair of guitarists and matched drummers half-fell down the stairs, clinging to one another indiscriminately, laughing.

The two bassists look at one another, vaguely confused.

“How long have you guys been up there?” Mike asked. Tré held up a reddened arm in response.

“Long enough to run out of cigarettes and get sunburnt.” Jason elaborated. George and Ringo simply giggled. Paul and Mike continued to stare as all four of them traipsed through the studio back towards little kitchen.

Looking at each other again, Paul and Mike sighed.

“We should--”

“Let John deal with ‘em.” Paul cut Mike off, turning back to him fully and positioning his fingers. “I wanna show ye’ somethin’. Though...” he smiled, “Ye’ probably already know it.”

He began to play _Helter Skelter_ , his current pride and joy, the song that John told him he’d never been able to write.

He was pleased to find that Mike did indeed know it, jumping in to join him, and when Paul began to sing, or scream more like, Mike joined him there too, the duet of hard rock brushing away any thoughts of their respective companions.

=-=-=

“Gross, we make _food_ here.”

John and Billie looked up, startled, each more than slightly exposed and both flushing furiously as they struggled to recompose themselves. The four standing in the doorway fell about laughing once again, clinging with little care as to who was hanging off whom. Heavy glares creased the foreheads of both John and Billie as they finished re-zipping their pants, struggling to shaky legs.

“Fuck off.” John growled. The gigglers fell as silent as they could, struggling to stop laughing. Billie smoothed his jeans, then reflexively looked John over and brushed off his back.

There was a defiant pause, utter silence before the four in the doorway began to laugh again in earnest.

George and Jason reached out in tandem, each grabbing their respective song writer and pulling them into the tangle.

“Cheer up, you mopey bitch.” Jason giggled into Billie’s ear. “Chill out. Enjoy this.”

“Don’t be a prick, John, just fuckin’ have some fun. Won’t kill ye‘.” George spoke, knocking heads with John.

Slowly, John and Billie allowed themselves to loosen up, the giddy joy infectious, and when Tré called up a cry for booze, all six of them barrelled together back to the studio to rush the far-to-serious bassists into the melee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Um. You turn around, and you look at who's sitting behind you, and you go take care of it.”_

'Box full of Puppies' is a somewhat generic turn of phrase, but one that nonetheless does a wonderful job of evoking the image at hand.

Tré lie flat on his back, one arm crooked behind his head, the other palm spreading flat against Ringo's chest, feeling his heartbeat and breath. Ringo, meanwhile, was smoking a slow cigarette, head resting upon Tré's chest, head turning every now and again to press his ear to Tré's heart, as if to remind himself that the other drummer was indeed there.

Directly to their left, George and Jason spooned like it was going out of fashion, the somewhat smaller Jason pressed tight into the protective curl of George's lankier body. The pair of guitarists was nonetheless linked to the drummers through the cigarette they were sharing with Ringo.

Above the four of them, John and Billie lay sprawled as if they were kings of the mountain, fingertips brushing through hair and against cheekbones every now and again, but nothing so close, so firm or... loving, as their band-mates. No, they were creatures of fleeting touch and half-caught glances, and a mutual understanding that it was good, while it lasted, but nothing lasted forever.

The bassists, meanwhile, were no where to be found.

It was Tré, in typical Tré Cool fashion, who broke the silence of the moment to be lewd.

"You think they're fucking yet?"

Billie groaned, and John took it upon himself to smack the drummer upside the head.

"Good job ruining the moment, Tré." Billie leered. Tré tilted his head back to set his eyes on Billie, and promptly stuck his tongue out like a slighted five-year-old.

"I was just _wondering_ , I mean, it fucking took 'em long enough, if they are."

"Well, I guess they're just not as big whores as us." Jason smirked, turning his head to catch the half-asleep George's lips in a sloppy kiss. George made a murmuring noise of content, tightening his grip around Jason's waist and trailing thin fingers around on his stomach.

Tré snorted, and Ringo, looking upwards to watch them, shook his head.

There was another long moment of peace before Tré started to fidget again, never one to be made to sit still for longer than a few seconds.

"Hey--" Ringo shifted, moving about to press his hand over Tré's mouth, smiling down at him.

"Don't want ye' to get yer head hit again."

Tré pouted against his hand, grabbing Ringo's wrist to pull the hand away.

"I was just gonna say that I wanted some coffee."

"Then go make some fucking coffee, man, you don't need to ask permission or anything." Billie sneered, though affectionately, at his drummer.

"Maybe I fucking will, then." Tré wriggled beneath Ringo, and they stood in unison, the gentle trickle of booze through their systems making their knees weak, prompting the way they leaned into one another, arms looping easily around waists.

"You lot want anything, while we're down there?" Ringo asked, glancing around. Billie shook his head, and John made a vague hand gesture that Ringo understood to mean 'tea'. Neither George nor Jason appeared to have heard, seeing as they were now soundly making out. Taking this as good, the drummers made their way back to the kitchen, leaning heavily on each other.

Billie, watching Jason and George interestedly (voyeurism being one of his many quirks that he was not the least bit ashamed of) reached back to pull John against him.

=-=-=

Ringo pulled away from Tré with a nearly girlish giggle. "We're s'posed to be makin' tea an' coffee, luv."

Tré waved an unconcerned hand. "Refreshments be damned."

"They'll be wonderin'."

"Not if I know Billie Joe. He's probably jerking off to Jason and George making out by now."

Ringo sputtered at this, something between a cough and a laugh caught in his throat. Tré smiled lewdly, circling around Ringo and resting broad hands on fairly skinny hips. With practiced technique, he took his mouth to Ringo's neck, sucking and nipping, drawing out a lovely dark mark, accompanied by a moan from the marked.

"If John and Bills can fuck in the kitchen, so can we."

=-=-=

By the time the drummers returned from their quick sojourn into ecstasy, drinks and some chips in tow, Billie had managed to restrain himself from wanking, but not from (perhaps jealously) matching the passion between George and Jason, straddling John's hips and thoroughly enjoying himself in the other man's mouth.

"Queers!" Tré shouted gamely, plopping down on the ground right between the two ferociously kissing pairs and holding his hands up for the tray Ringo was carrying.

A breathy and mumbled 'sod off' could be discerned from the Armstrong/Lennon camp, and the others it seemed were still temporarily deaf.

"You gonna drink this bloody tea, Lennon, or do I 'ave to pour it on ye'?"

Billie pulled back long enough to toss a smoldering (the good kind) glance over his shoulder at Ringo. "Kinky."

Tré snorted. "Whore."

"You know it." Billie responded, before returning his attention to John.

The drummers exchanged glances and smirks, and Ringo lit a cigarette before passing it to Tré, then picked up a cup of tea.

=-=-=

The roof door slammed open, and Mike was the first to tumble down the stairs, still somewhat shamefacedly zipping the fly of his jeans. Paul followed after him, bright red with embarrassment.

"I can't believe we just did that." Mike stated, mostly to himself, but his words weren't lost on the other six sprawled on the floor.

Tré sat up, eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas, and pointed at the bassists. "You guys just fucked on the roof! You exhibitionist bastards! Ow!" The last exclamation being the response to John smacking the over-eager drummer upside the head once more.

"Grow up, Tré." Billie yawned, stretching slightly. "There's coffee, Dirnt, if you need to regain yer senses."

Tré tugged his knees to his chest and pouted furiously. No one ever let him have any fun anymore, it seemed. Ringo smirked, shaking his head, but slid into place behind Tré anyway, draping his arms over Tré's shoulders and splaying his fingers.

"How was it?" George asked, winking at Paul, whom, it seemed, was utterly dumbstruck (for the first time in as long as George had known him). It was Mike who answered.

"Fucking mind fuck, is how." He threw himself onto the ground, albeit gingerly, and reached for the coffee as good as waiting for him. Paul sat down in a daze, staring sort of blankly at the floor.

Tré leaned in, poking Paul in the shoulder, then looking at Mike, his trademark lewd smirk in place again. "I think you broke 'im, Mikey."

"Fuck off, Tré." Was Mike's only response, low and quiet behind the rim of the coffee mug.

They sat in solemn silence for a bit after that, before Tré began fidgeting again, despite Ringo's half-hearted attempts to keep him still. Truth be told, the rock drummer loved the little punk's tendency to start shit, rile things up, make everything interesting, and if there was one thing that fed Tré Cool's gumption more than booze and drugs, it was admiration (or near enough).

"What now?" He finally asked.

Billie Joe yawned again. "I go find that duct tape that Rob has set aside for you, and the rest of us get more than a couple minutes of peaceful silence."

"I second that motion." Mike grumbled. Tré promptly pouted again.

"Fuck you guys."

"Truly, though, Tré. Sleep?"

Tré's voice rose in pitch, a step up from his normally too high nasally tone. "But I'm not tired."

"Then take care of that." Jason finally joined the conversation, seeing as George was actually asleep already.

"And how do you expect me to do that?" Tré huffed. Jason blinked, tweaking an eyebrow.

"Um. You turn around, and you look at who's sitting behind you, and you _go take care of it_."

"Oh!" Tré brightened visibly, doing exactly as instructed, grinning like a fool at Ringo. Ringo laughed, scrambling to his feet and pulling Tré after him.

"Come 'ead then."

The two drummers scampered off, back towards the kitchen to exploit the table once more. Billie rolled his eyes before turning over onto his side, tossing a loose arm around John's waist. It had been a while since he'd slept on the floor, but he was fucking tired.

Jason curled back against George, who even asleep managed to tighten his grip around Jason. And the two bassists managed to fall asleep extremely close to one another, without actually touching.

Silence (or nearly so) fell over the studio.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I've always wanted to really do New York, you know what I mean?”_

When Billie Joe awoke, he was fairly sure he was the only one. There was still light enough in the studio so he could navigate without tripping over any of the others (it seemed Ringo and Tré had returned from their sojourn in the kitchen suitably exhausted, curled up as they were in the doorway).

He grabbed his acoustic from it's stand, and headed for the blue door, smiling wryly as he realized that the roof was seeing a lot more action than his occasional panic attack, these days.

The horizon was still a shimmering orange glow over the Bay, slightest stars peeking out of the blue-black sky. The moon rose behind him, a tiny sliver, almost nothing.

He pulled his well worn pack of Camels out of his pocket, lighting one of the cigarettes before sitting himself down right on the corner of the roof, settling his guitar across one knee and beginning to play, in need of the escape.

Over the mournful strumming, he didn't hear the door creak open, nor did he feel the footsteps approaching him. It wasn't until the familiar sound of a lighter flicking open that he realized he was no longer alone.

"Did I wake you?"

John shook his head, pulling on his cigarette hard enough to make his cheeks hollow.

"I'm surprised you guys are still here."

"You're surprised? Mate, I'm surprised we're here in the first place."

Billie sighed. "Good point."

John tilted his head to the side as Billie turned around, returning his cigarette to its perch between his lips and putting his fingers back over the guitar strings.

"Can I join ye'?"

Billie shrugged one shoulder, strumming slowly. "Whatever."

John sat beside him, dragging on his cigarette, and examined the smaller man's profile as Billie Joe slipped into a very specific song.

After a few moments of listening, John spoke up again. "What's that?"

"Hmm?"

"What you're playin'."

Billie shrugged, returning to simple chords. "Just a song."

"Yeh, well, I know that. It was nice. Got words?"

Billie nodded. John raised an eyebrow at him, using two fingers to push his glasses up his nose, but chose not to pursue the topic. If Billie wanted to talk, he would, and no doubt.

There was a pause, as Billie finished off his cigarette. "It's about my dad, is all. Sort of personal, you know?"

"Yer da', eh?"

Billie Joe cleared his throat. "He, um, he passed away when I was ten."

John blinked at this, sitting back, leaning his weight on his arms, sighing as he turned his face towards the approaching night. "Odd."

"What is?"

"I was thinkin' about recording a song about me mum, on this album."

Billie smiled weakly. "I know."

"So I do it, then?"

"Yeah..." Billie turned to face John. "Would you play it for me?"

John blinked again, tilting his head, then shrugged. "Don't see why not."

He took the guitar from his counterpart, smoothing his fingers over the strings for a moment before he began to play.

Billie Joe sat back and let the knowledge that he was, to be truthful, being serenaded by John Lennon, wash over him, as the familiar strains of _Julia_ spread to the stars.

=-=-=

George had been awake when Billie, followed shortly by John, had left through the door to the roof. Jason was still asleep, curled against his chest. George smiled softly as he realized that Jason's slow, even breaths echoed his own.

He didn't often toy with the word 'love', but he did love Jason. At least, it felt like love.

Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps the fact that he loved him made him unable to love him. Chance time travel encounters did not a healthy relationship make.

He carefully pulled away from Jason, sitting up and stretching towards the ceiling, his back popping quietly all the way down. Jason murmured in his sleep, rolling over to remain close to George's warmth, prompting George to rest a hand on Jason's head, fingering his hair gently.

Pale blue eyes fluttered open, focused as if instinctively on George's eyes. Jason smiled softly, and George's heart melted.

"You okay?" Jason asked quietly. George nodded, threading his fingers through Jason's hair. Jason sat up and looked around.

"Where's everyone else?"

"John 'nd Billie Joe went up to the roof, have a ciggie, I figure."

Jason giggled. "Or fuck."

George smiled at him, wrapping thin arms around Jason again, drawing the smaller man close against his chest, pressing dry lips to his pale temple. "Probably both."

Jason nodded against George's chest, taking in a slow, deep breath, letting the always familiar scent of George; cigarettes, peppermint, and a dash of cinnamon, for reasons Jason didn't know; wash through his synapse.

George was speaking quietly into Jason's hair, making the smaller guitarist's eyebrows furrow.

"What, George?"

George sighed softly, pulling back to meet Jason's eyes, searching. "Do you love me?"

Jason blushed a bit, looking down. George frowned.

"Jason?"

Jason nodded slowly, still not looking up. Not until George cupped a hand beneath Jason's chin, tilting his head back, meeting his eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

Jason's voice was a mere whisper. "Yes."

George's voice fell to mirror Jason's, particularly as he heard the tell-tale signs that Ringo was waking up (or rather, not hearing the tell-tale signs that Ringo was still asleep, i.e. his usual snores and sometimes whimpers).

"You think it'll work?"

Jason looked down again. "I think we can both agree that it has so far."

George sat back, crossing his legs, resting a hand on each knee, palm up, thumb and middle finger touching. "Do you have anyone else, Jason?"

Jason nodded, and George's eyes closed. "So do I."

Jason sneaked closer again, sitting right in front of the now quietly humming George. "I know."

"So you and I?" George spoke in a low voice that echoed his humming, making the words and the sound bleed together.

"I still love you." Jason said.

George didn't respond, he simply lifted his hands from their perch, holding out his arms, fingers twitching. Jason read this correctly, and fell into George's arms.

George closed his arms around Jason, humming now into his hair. Jason knew that George loved him too. Jason knew that it was okay.

=-=-=

When Tré woke up, Ringo was ready and waiting to jump to his feet, grasping the other drummer by the wrist, tugging him to his feet and dragging him out of the main room before he could speak.

Ringo had been listening to George and Jason talking. He didn't intend to bring up such topics with Tré. Love was a touchy word, for them both. They had his ring, which was all that mattered.

As they passed by the bassists, Ringo noticed that Mike was awake. He nodded at him, and Mike smiled weakly, nodding back. He was close to Paul, now, one hand trailing in the other man's hair. It was nice, Ringo thought. Maybe Paul would be less demeaning about the whole thing, now.

When Ringo finally turned around, it was right into Tré's arms, the smaller man's lips pressed quickly to his pulse.

"Good morning." Tré mumbled against Ringo's skin.

"It's late evenin'." Ringo chuckled. Tré shrugged.

"Why'd you pull me out of there so quick?"

"Because George 'n' Jason were bein' all lovey dovey."

"And?"

"Maybe I didn't want to have to talk over you."

Tré laughed quietly. "You know me pretty well."

=-=-=

Jason and George were simply hugging, now, humming quietly, drowning out all else, leaving Paul and Mike to their awkward air.

"What now?" Paul asked.

He had woken up to find the drummers leaving, speaking quietly in the hall (he couldn't hear the words, but he could discern Ringo's tone of voice), and the guitarists... it seemed George had pulled Jason into a meditation with him.

Which was fine with Paul, because he had also woken up to find Mike's long fingers tangled in his hair.

And it felt good. Much better than when Jane had done it, to wake him up some mornings. It seemed Mike was a seasoned professional at petting, and so Paul, only half-awake, had nuzzled up into Mike's hand a bit before realizing what he was doing and sitting up with a start.

And now they were just looking at each other, blushing a bit, stuttering.

"I don't know." Mike said quietly, fingers threading as he popped his knuckles, watching his skin move over bone, unwilling to look up and meet piercing hazel eyes.

"It seems the world's gone mad." Said Paul quietly, looking down at his own hands, picking idly at a callus.

"Yeah." Mike responded.

There was another awkward pause, and then Paul threw cautions to the wind.

"Then it must be okay, for now, eh?"

Mike looked up finally, icy blue eyes freezing right into Paul's soul.

"Yeah."

Paul smiled. "Yeah."

=-=-=

"And so..." Billie Joe took a lingering drag off the end of his cigarette, flicking the butt off the edge of the roof when he's done, exhaling towards the stars. "Sometimes I just want to take off."

John nodded knowingly, lighting another cigarette for himself. "Another?" He asked, and Billie Joe considered for maybe a quarter of a second before nodding. John handed him the one that had just been between his lips, and pulled a fresh one out for himself.

"I wonder if they'd even care."

John tilted his head, dragging on his cigarette and blowing a lopsided circle of smoke out of his mouth. "How d'ye mean?"

"I mean... they way they've been acting recently. Like I'm some kind of nazi. I don't mean to act like that... I _don't_ act like that. It's like, maybe they'd be happier if I were out of the picture."

John chuckled. "But you know they'd be buggered without you."

Billie hung his head. "As self-centered as it sounds, yeah." He looked up, meeting John's eyes. "Don't get me wrong. I need them too. At least, I think so. We're a group; we all need each other. But more and more, these days, it feels like maybe we'd all be better off alone." He dragged slowly on his cigarette, thoughtfully, and spoke on the exhale. "I just don't know."

John reached across the tiny space between them, setting a heavy hand on Billie's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Maybe you should go find out."

Billie turned to look at him. "Find out what?"

"Find out what's right. For you. Give them time to find out what's right for them. Just go, for a while."

"Go where?"

John shrugged, spreading his hands before leaning back, supporting his upper body primarily on the heels of his hands, tilting his head back and breathing in the night air. "I've always wanted to really _do_ New York, you know what I mean?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Where's Billie Joe?”_

Billie Joe left John on the roof. They exchanged a short hug, a slightly longer kiss, and Billie Joe thanked him with his eyes. John accepted it likewise.

He escaped the studio without anyone catching wind of his exit. He walked right past George and Jason, humming quietly, and Paul and Mike, who were asleep again, only this time Mike was holding Paul close. He didn't see Ringo and Tré, but he didn't really make particular note of their absence, either.

It didn't really matter. Not right now.

 

Tré's hands were comfortably in Ringo's back pockets, his lips more or less attached firmly to Ringo's pulse, sucking gently, drawing out a light mark. Ringo was laughing quietly, and Tré once more found himself praising to the high heavens the blessing that was weed. It made everything so much more amusing.

Ringo eventually pulled away.

"'m bloody hungry now."

This sent Tré into a moment of incapacitating giggles, leaning back against the table as Ringo, picking up his own chuckles, began to search for food.

He found a can of soup and a pot, and turned around, clutching both and grinning like a fool at Tré. The sight did little more than cause Tré to double up laughing proper. Ringo frowned at him for maybe two seconds before tossing the pot down onto the stove, turning it on and searching for a can opener.

Tré took several shaky breaths as he forced his laughter down. "I need to piss."

"Ta, fer the alert." Ringo said, opening the can and dumping the whole thing into the pot. Tré saluted.

"No problem." He turned and marched out of the kitchen, more or less skipping to the bathroom.

He returned to an empty kitchen, the soup on the edge of boiling over.

He moved quickly to the stove to turn it down, and spun around, hoping against hope that perhaps Ringo had only left for a moment, and would be right back. Of course, he knew better. They were gone again.

He ran from the kitchen and into the main studio.

Jason was still humming to himself, and Mike was just beginning to wake up. Tré fought back the tears in his eyes before Mike saw them.

Mike's voice as low, as if he didn't want to wake Jason from his trance. Truth be told, he didn't. Not yet.

"They're gone?"

"Yeah." Tré's voice was low, not so much out of consideration of Jason, but out of his own hurt.

"Where's Billie Joe?"

"I don’t know. The roof?"

Tré turned away from Mike, heading for the blue door. He took the stairs two at a time, but it was all for naught. The roof was bare except for an empty pack of cigarettes, two spent matches, and a total lack of either John Lennon, _or_ Billie Joe Armstrong.

Tré thumped back down the stairs, worry creasing his forehead. "He's not there."

Mike rose to his feet, taking long strides past Jason to the door.

Jason snapped out of his trance with a sort of sad gasp. He looked up at Tré with surprisingly dry eyes. "Are they gone?"

Tré gripped the ring still chained around his neck, until the edges dug into his skin. Jason nodded slowly.

They simply looked at each other for along moment. Then Jason spoke.

"It's okay, Tré."

Tré hung his head, shaking it once, as if attempting to shake away his gathering tears. "I should go home."

Mike returned, face set. "Billie's car is gone. He took off."

"When?" Jason asked.

"I don't know."

Tré shook his head again, and a pair of tears fell from his eyes unnoticed. "I'm going home."

Jason stood, stretched, and moved to retrieve his cell phone, dialing Billie Joe and eyeing Mike as he listened to the phone ring.

Neither he nor Mike noticed Tré leave.

 

Billie Joe drove home and woke up his wife to tell her he was going away for a while. She was still half-asleep, and thusly didn't ask where or why, nor whether Tré and Mike were going with him. She simply nodded, kissed him goodbye, and went back to sleep.

And he packed a tiny bag, called a taxi, and went to the airport.

As he sat in the plane, about to shut off his phone against the impeding take-off, it began to ring.

Jason.

Billie Joe shut off his phone.

 

Ringo ran into the main of the studio struggling with tears. George was still meditating, and Paul was gone.

John had stayed on the roof. He'd smoked the rest of Billie Joe's cigarettes, watching the sun rise, watching it rise until it was setting over the River Thames.


End file.
